Cool Kids
by Oliviatheolive
Summary: Gap-filler. 106-Daphne leaves the Gay & Lesbian center with a women to grab food at the diner. "What are you doing? She thinks you're a lesbian?" - "Well can't I be one of the cool kids too?" - "You're such a freak!"


Gap-filler.

I wrote this fic while listening to Human qualities by Explosions to the sky. I feel like the song fits the mood of the story perfectly, so you may want to listen to it while reading this.

106-Daphne leaves the Gay & Lesbian center with a women to grab a drink at the diner.

" _What are you doing? She thinks you're a lesbian?"_

" _Well can't I be one of the cool kids too?"_

" _You're such a freak!"_

The diner is at full swing come noon, tables brewing with hungry customers, overworked chairs and booths straining to provide seating to the overabundance of occupants, and a small herd of casual dressers, agitated and in a hurry, waiting at the bar to cash out. It feels a lot like that one time you went to Babylon with Justin, filled to the rafters with gays and loud as can be, but without the thumpa-thumpa in the background.

And the exotic dancers. And the strobe lighting, of course.

In this hole in the wall diner, without Justin beside you, you feel as though you're on a different wavelength. Picking out voices but not their words, people but not their faces. Snatches of color, streams of color, jetting by you in grey tones, but no clothing catching your eye. Everyone's moving at the same speed, talking at the same volume except you.

You might be on a delay, by at least 3 seconds.

It might be because you're out with a girl.

A really _really_ pretty girl.

You're loitering around the entrance for seats to free up with Caitlyn, a pretty artist with a southern drawl. Exchanging conversation every so often through silence and curious glances. Occasionally you use accidental brushes, head tilts, head shakes, head nods and light smiles, just smiles, to get your point across.

It feels like the beginnings of a quirky romance. The ones that you daydream about having with Justin but are near impossible to replicate in real life.

Even though your stomach feels like it's partaking in a war, it makes you giddy and nervous, and you like it. It brings out the silly school girl in you, the one you've kept hidden behind rationality and maturity.

This could turn into something.

When you're not communicating, you play with your tight curls and steal glances, and think about ways to strike up a new conversation. Ones that doesn't involve art, TV or her accent, you covered those topics during the walk over.

You're standing side by side when Caitlyn leans down to whisper in your ear, pressing her lean rail thin body gently against your own. You almost take a step back because you didn't expect her to be this close to you, you're not used to it, but you hold your ground anyway, because you want this.

You can do this.

You shiver when Caitlyn talks. Her breath coming out in soft spurts, traveling down from ear to neck, raising fine hairs, and flushing your cheeks.

"A table's freed up," she points out with a heavy emphasis on the 'r' in freed.

You smile and nod. Caitlyn's several inches taller than you, about Justin's height, maybe even taller, so you have to look up to talk to her, but not by much. Caitlyn returns your smile with a closed mouth grin of her own before lightly placing her hand on the small of your back and guides you over.

You weave through tables, spilled drinks and conversations to get to the table in the far back. Contorting your body to get around people and chairs, you come to your senses, you take a quick inconspicuous glance around the room before reaching your table, before sitting down. You won't recognize anyone but you do it anyways. You're afraid that your parents might find out about what you've been up to from a stray peer, a distant relative, a neighbor or an acquaintance.

When you don't spy anyone, you reluctantly return to the present. Caitlyn's grin is still in place and you find her standing before two empty chairs. You start to grab the back of one of the chairs, ready to sit down and order your food, but Caitlyn leans into you again, "see anyone you recognize?"

For a moment you think you've been caught, Caitlyn must know that you're a fake. Just a scared little girl trying to figure out who you are, and desperately wanting to fit into the world you know your best friend will be leaving you behind for.

But Caitlyn's tone is far from accusatory, it's fairly friendly.

"No," you say with a shake of your head. "I just thought I saw a friend from...uh...

School," you lie.

"Like a friend or a girlfriend?" Caitlyn asks, falling back into her seat. You follow her lead and take a seat across from her. Thinking of ways to end this part of the conversation, to get away from this topic, not paying attention, you accidently place your hands on the still wet table.

"Uh, you know, just a friend...from school," you say, wiping your hands on your paint splattered jeans.

"Cool," and then you tumble into another bout of silence. You worry about whose turn it is to start up the next chat or whether silence is really golden. The silence doesn't feel the same as before, when you were waiting by the door. It's probably because you're facing each other now. It's hard not to have a conversation with a person sitting directly in front of you.

You both reach for the menus at the same time, their hiding behind the near empty ketchup bottle and napkins. You share shy smiles as your fingers clumsily crash into each other.

No words are spoken but you feel like a flame has been lit in your mind and now it won't shut off or die down because all you can think about is how soft her skin feels. You can't even focus on the menu, although you don't really need to, you've been to this diner a few times in the last week, you have a good idea of what's good and what's not.

When the waiter finally makes his way over, doing backbends and somersaults in the process, he's more business than pleasant. He hastily places your silverware down and takes your food and drink orders at the same time. You order a milkshake and a double cheeseburger deluxe with a side of curly fries. Caitlyn orders an ice tea, a veggie hummus wrap with a side salad.

You feel like a giant pig.

You feel like a giant murderous pig when Caitlyn tells you she's vegan.

You wonder if all lesbian dates are so nerve wrecking, maybe it's just dating in general, or Caitlyn, but she's nice enough, she's pretty enough, she isn't really making you nervous.

You wouldn't know about the dating bit, you rarely get asked out. Maybe you're getting ahead of yourself. This isn't a date, this could just be two people hanging out after a long morning of volunteering. A friend thing, but you can still recall the gentle pressure of her hand resting on your lower back, guiding you through the diner. That's not friend behavior. Justin certainly never does things like that to you.

"So...you're in school?" Caitlyn asks, finally breaking the silence.

You sigh in relief, "yeah" grateful that you get the chance to escape from your mind.

"What are you studying?"

"Pretty much the same things I studied last year," you reply with a shrug. You hate talking about your courses, you get enough of it when you're at school and during dinner with the family. But Caitlyn seems to be waiting for a real answer, something more, so you offer up, "I'm in advanced French." It's your favorite subject.

"Oh cool. Is French your major? Sometimes I wish I would have studied another language in college." You tap out a beat, erratically, on the floor because she thinks you're in college and you're wondering whether or not you should correct her.

Before you can decide, the waiter comes back, you think his name is Kevin, but it's really Jeremy, and delivers your food and drinks.

He places your milkshake in front of you with one straw and you ask for another and miss the incredulous look on Caitlyn's face.

When the waiter leaves, Caitlyn says in a tone that you haven't heard her use before and one that you would rather not like to hear again, "you've got two straws."

You discard the wrappings and plunge both straws into the milkshake, displaying their purpose. "So I can get double the amount."

As soon as the words leave your mouth you wish they wouldn't have.

Your half a pound of burger surrounded by an island of fries not even counting the milkshake looks monstrous next to Caitlyn's small salad and delicate veggie wrap.

No wonders she's so thin you think, as you stare at her protruding collar bones and the way her overalls just seem to hang off her.

You make a deal to only eat half your sandwich, none of your fries, and only drink 9 sips of your milkshake.

Even after the deal you make, you still feel the need to explain yourself. You ramble to Caitlyn, sprouting excuses about your amount of food, justifying it by blaming Justin's feigned promises of breakfast burritos and skipping dinner last night. But it only makes you come off like some calorie obsessed fiend.

Caitlyn doesn't look like she cares. She starts tapping out a tune on the table, her eyes glaze over a bit, you know this, you see this, but you keep on talking because her behavior makes you even more anxious.

You're ruining this.

You manage to stop yourself from talking after you finish thanking her for taking you the diner, you've only been there a few times and still don't have a clear idea of how to get to Liberty Avenue by yourself. Slowly you notice that Caitlyn's about done with her food while you've barely touched yours.

Your table is quiet now, no one's talking and you're starting to think that maybe silence is truly golden.

In between chews you watch Caitlyn, glancing across the diner, smiling at a joke that was made from the next table over, looking out the windows, anywhere but with you. You're a little surprised that she hasn't made her escape yet after your long rant.

"You don't come to Liberty Avenue often, do you?" Caitlyn asks, commenting on one of the many points you brought up during your one sided-conversation.

You shake your head.

"That's probably why I haven't seen you before," and you nod in agreement. "Did you like just recently come out?"

You bypass this line of questioning. You aren't sure what to identify with, you still think of yourself as straight, and you aren't sure if one date qualifies as maybe gay.

You wonder when Justin began thinking of himself as gay, or if he always knew.

"I live with my parents. They don't like it when I'm too far away," you answers somewhat honestly.

Caitlyn's eyebrows draw together in confusion and gives you a long hard look. You fidget nervously in your seat and mindlessly take a few too many sips of your milkshake.

"How old are you?"

"17," the number slips from your tongue. You see Caitlyn purse her thin pink lips in distaste and cast a side eye over to the exit.

You ask the same question, trying to distract yourself from the sinking feeling in your chest.

"25."

You watch as Caitlyn pushes her empty plate of food to the side and stacks her salad bowl on top. You know she's getting ready to leave and that you should probably feel upset about this but all you want to do is laugh because Justin is dating some old guy who's a lot older than 25.

You really did ruin this.

You know there's no hope and that the date or whatever it is, is over, but you try anyway. You bring up a few conversation starters like art and nature, ones you know will bring a spark of enthusiasm in her disinterested eyes, but Caitlyn cuts you off mid-sentence, when she sees two women walk into the diner.

"Hey, I'll catch up with you later, yeah?" She says rising from the seat and barely paying attention to the hurt look lying heavily on your face. "I see an old friend of mine." She doesn't even wait for your reply.

"I'll pay," she calls over her shoulder, your constellation prize for being ditched, you think, as she weaves through the tables to her friends.

You decide to eat the rest of your burger, eat the island of fries and sip from the monstrous milkshake when you see Caitlyn leave with a group of people after paying for your food, deciding to find somewhere place less busy instead.

 _Maybe I'm not one of the cool kids,_ you think sadly.


End file.
